Skip to main content

The Light



The wavering light seems to be calling to us with the green breath of Love.

She moves like her mother, her glitter rounding the bend long after she’s passed, her breath tickling my throat that’s hunched in wait as I seek the next meal and offer my hand for the next dance with the shadow spirit come to watch me dig in the gutter for food.

I glimpse her in the child that comes to play from time to time, eyes beaming with curiosity, small hands thrumming the floor of heaven.

The glancing light is best to show who I am, the vivid beams are for who I’ve become.

Choose.

Light my way back to me or light me back to my former beast, either way, I’m on this journey home. When I arrive, I hope to see you there, with your hopeful whispers in my throat, an undying Love still etched inside your smile.

I get a glimpse of the self when I love. It’s nice to see you, too…


© 2011 by mark prime

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

........•SHRIEKING MACHINE•........                  •HEAD-LINES•                           •RIP•     ---(“Russian missiles blast Ukrainian military academy and hospital, killing more than 50, officials say”)---    There are no more lessons to learn here, no more beds to hold the human wounded, just missile’s shrieking their grotesque ode, The Death of Humankind! RIP, children of God…    ---(“Hundreds attend Mercer Island vigil, march for murdered Israeli hostages”)---    Dear mourners, this is the brutal vacuum of a genocidal, terror-filled, indiscriminate war-machine made of fear and we are all hostages to its deafening roar! RIP, children of God…    ---(“10-year-old allegedly confesses to fatally shooting 82-year-old man and his daughter”)---    I must confess, this is part of war’s shrieking, children lost with a we...
Post a Comment
read the poem

sdrawkcaB nruT (Turn Backwards)

I have been witness to the four pillars and see no reason to carry death there. Doesn’t the world know that life moves for more than just the sons of Abraham? O! I see the stunned throats floating by in the dusk to their stiff-limbed sleep as metal rains down over the Jordan’s western prophet, children dying there. I am here, waiting, breathing in the dusk under the shadow of the patriarch, asking, can we again build the shrine inside the soul and leave our flesh to time? © 2008 mrp/thepoetryman
32 comments
read the poem

Per Plex Ed

            PER+PLEX-ED When you haven’t heard the truth in so long, when you do, it rings a most familiar s ong. That’s the human song, the truth rolling out exactly when it should.      (If a truth is told and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound only to the one that spoke it?)    Yes, but our ears aren’t strong enough to hear it.     [a perplexed silence] © 2017 Mark Richard Prime
Post a Comment
read the poem